Empty Fist
by PenPatronus
Summary: COMPLETE It's Inauguration Day 2017 in Washington D.C., and the Horsemen put on a show that America will never forget. Drama, Humor, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Whump. Features Dylan, Daniel, Jack, and Merritt.
1. Suicide Mission

**Summary:** It's Inauguration Day 2017 in Washington D.C., and the Horsemen put on a show that America will never forget. Drama, Humor, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Whump. Features Dylan, Daniel, Jack, and Merritt.

 **Empty Fist  
** PenPatronus  
Chapter 1 of 3  
 **Suicide Mission**

 _Thanksgiving  
_ _November 24, 2016  
_ _Helena, Montana_

Daniel Atlas grunted as he lifted the turkey out of the oven. "How many pounds is this?" he called. "It's a freaking dinosaur!"

Jack Wilder sidled up to the kitchen counter. "Pick a card," he said, flashing his smile and a full deck.

Daniel opened three drawers before he found a carving knife. "Kinda busy. Get out the Styrofoam plates, will you?"

"Come on, Danny, pick a card!"

Atlas started to reach for one, then folded all his fingers except for the middle. "If you're not going to help, at least go wake up Dylan."

Jack spun on his heel and faced the living room. "Merritt! Pick a card, man."

Merritt McKinney pointed their TV remote and muted the football game. "That bird is a 30-pounder," he announced through a yawn as he rolled off the couch. "Hypnotized and strangled it myself in our backyard."

A figure lumbered out of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. A clean-shaven Dylan Rhodes leaned against the refrigerator and cocked an eyebrow at his fellow Horsemen. "How do you hypnotize a turkey?"

Jack sprung to the leader's side. "Dylan, man, I've got the sweetest trick. Pick a card!"

Dylan chuckled at the young man's enthusiasm and removed a card from the deck. "I'm not paying your quarter of the rent this month if you pull this card out of my ass." Jack waggled his eyebrows, then turned his head aside so that he wouldn't see Dylan put the card back in the pile after he memorized it.

Merritt shared a look with Daniel. "Look who's awake before noon," he teased Dylan. "Fearless leader even showered and shaved for the special occasion. And, wow, is that a CLEAN t-shirt?"

Dylan rolled his eyes at his teammates. "I'll get the napkins," he said, and proceeded to rip paper towels in half and distribute them across the cracked dining room table. "None of the girls are joining us today?"

"Henley hasn't visited in a month," Daniel said louder than he intended. "And Lula went to visit her family a week ago. You'd know that, Dylan, if you had an actual conversation with us once in a while…"

Dylan rolled his eyes. "I know I've been a bit of a hermit lately…"

"No." Daniel slammed a drawer shut and glared. "Merritt's a hermit. You've been avoiding us. Is there a reason, or are you just an asshole?"

Dylan didn't reply.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Merritt grabbed the plastic utensils and Jack picked up the disposable bowls and plates. The pair followed Dylan around the table, carefully setting each spot. Behind them, Atlas was carving up the turkey when his knife scraped against something smooth. Daniel frowned. He peeled back a wing and wiggled two fingers into the turkey's guts. "Holy shit."

Dylan, Merritt, and Jack looked up to see Daniel holding something flat and rectangular. Jack's grin stretched from ear to ear when he spotted the queen of spades. "Is that your card?" he asked Dylan.

Merritt broke into a belly-laugh at the astonished look on Dylan's face. His laugh was so loud, so delightfully obnoxious, that the other three couldn't help but join in.

An hour later, Dylan and his Horsemen had their feet propped up on the table, their pants unbuttoned, and glasses of wine in their hands. "This Thanksgiving I'm thankful that the funniest, smartest, hottest magician in the world agreed to marry me!" Jack said, raising his glass in the air.

"Babe, I thought we were going to wait until Christmas to tell them!" Merritt said with a pout and puppy dog eyes.

Daniel coughed through a gulp of red. "I'm telling Lula you said that," he warned, "if you don't pass me the pumpkin pie. And before you put me on the spot, it's pie. It's pumpkin pie that I'm thankful for."

Merritt clasped a palm against his chest. "So brave of you to bare your soul like that!" he exclaimed, his sarcasm honey-thick. "Now I know, what, like, three things about you? Never felt so close to you, man." Daniel humored him with a small smile and clinked their glasses together. "I am thankful for my second glass of wine—"

"Third," Dylan, Jack, and Daniel all corrected.

Merritt thought about it. "Third," he conceded. "And I am thankful for…" He hesitated as if gathering his courage. "For you—you knuckleheads. For my brother," he said, nodding at Atlas. "And for my super-annoying little brother," he said to Jack, who grinned back. "And for my boss / sort-of-dad…Which is impossible because he's actually younger than me. To the man who brought us together—Dylan! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Jack agreed, and all but Dylan took a drink.

Two full minutes passed while they waited for their leader to say what he was thankful for—or to at least look up from his empty plate. Finally, it was Daniel who leaned across the table and put his hand on Rhodes' shoulder. "Dylan?"

Dylan still didn't look up. "Have to tell you guys something," he said, and then he took a drink. "I'm leaving tomorrow…Flying to D.C."

"What?" Jack sputtered. "Why?"

"For how long?" Merritt asked.

Rhodes chose to answer Merritt's question. "Through January, probably. I'll text you when I land," he said, finally making eye contact with Atlas, "but after that I won't be able to contact you…Not for any reason."

"You're meeting with The Eye," Merritt guessed. Dylan took another drink—emptying his glass. "You're working for The Eye. You're…doing a show?"

Jack tossed his hands up. "You're doing a job without US?"

"It's dangerous," Dylan whispered.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Robin Hood adventures are always dangerous! That's half the fun, man!"

Dylan turned in his chair. "I don't mean it's dangerous like we might go to jail. I mean it's dangerous like—like I don't expect to come back from it."

Daniel sat up straight. "The hell does that mean?" he demanded. "Dylan, you're not going on a suicide mission alone—"

Dylan faced him. His features were strained and pale. "What I'm NOT doing is taking you down with me. There's something I have to do and it's separate from The Eye's personnel and resources—it's got nothing to do with you."

Merritt rested his elbows on the table and braided his fingers together tight. "Dylan, we don't want to help out of loyalty to The Eye. We want to help YOU. You know we'd do anything for you, man."

"That's exactly the problem." Dylan shook his head sadly. "I've put you in enough danger! Danger for my own selfish reasons. For MY vendettas. I have to do this one on my own. I…I have to go pack. Thanks for dinner, guys." With that, Dylan abandoned his chair and retreated to his bedroom, slamming the door tight.

Jack started to follow him, but stopped when Daniel grabbed his shoulder. "I got it," he said quietly. Jack took the cue and sat back down. Merritt removed his hat with a long sigh and started clearing the table.

Atlas hesitated at Dylan's door. He sighed and leaned his forehead against it. "Don't make me have Jack pick the lock," he threatened. A minute passed, but then Daniel heard the telltale sound of a latch turning. The doorknob rotated. An inch of light appeared. Atlas hesitated for another half a minute, and then went inside.

"Geeze," he gasped. "What the hell have you been working on, man?" All four walls (including the windows) were covered in paper: maps, blueprints, diagrams, schedules, weather reports, biographies, pictures, lists of names, and newspaper articles. Daniel put his hands on his head and dug his fingernails into his skull. "Have you even been sleeping…?"

Dylan sat on the edge of his perfectly-made bed with his hands braced under his thighs. "I, uh…" He coughed, and then cleared his throat. "Haven't really slept well since I, you know, drowned…Nightmares."

Daniel pursed his lips together. He knew all too well. More than once he'd woken up in the middle of the night to Dylan shouting for his help. When that happened he practically kicked down Dylan's door to get to him—to wake him up only to stand there awkwardly waiting for his leader to catch his breath. They never spoke about it the next day—or ever. But, Dylan hadn't woken up shouting in weeks, which meant that Daniel hadn't been in his bedroom in weeks, which meant that the wrappings on the walls were new. Daniel stepped closer and started analyzing. Dylan watched him, also analyzing.

Daniel soaked up the information lightning-fast. "You ARE going to get yourself killed," he concluded. "Dylan, I didn't vote for him under my aliases, either. The majority of Americans didn't vote for him, but that's the way the system…" Daniel sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Look, nothing is more secure than D.C. on Inauguration Day. If one trigger-happy police officer feels one hair stand up on the back of his neck, the entire military will be all over you."

"I'm a magician, not an assassin," Dylan reminded him. "The only thing I'll be armed with is the truth."

"The truth is that you're going to rob one of the richest men in the world while the entire world is watching…" Daniel scanned the lists of names. There were thousands. "And give that money to his former employees…To the investors he bankrupted…To the victims of every petty libel lawsuit…Every student he scammed…Every undocumented worker he underpaid…"

"And any woman he ever sexually exploited." Dylan spat out the words like they were poison on his tongue. "I'm going to expose every tax record, every scandal, every political conspiracy. I'm going to unmask him in front of the world once and for all. A racist, hypocritical, greedy criminal will not be President of the United States."

Daniel switched his attention to the blueprints. "You'll have to pay off the groundskeepers. You'll have to dig in the middle of the night. And you'll need at least a hundred plants and stagehands to pull this off. And, seriously, dude, it's probably going to be in the middle of a winter storm, under 20 Fahrenheit. Without The Eye backing you up—"

Dylan folded his arms tight against his chest. "I have my own contacts. More than one underground society in D.C. owes me a favor."

"We don't have most of this equipment. The expense—"

"I have my own savings. I'll use it all if I have to."

A series of printed emails caught Daniel's attention. "Holy shit." Atlas tugged one page off the wall and examined it. "They have proof? The FBI has proof of his ties to the mob and to Russia and they aren't doing anything about it? You're sure?"

Dylan stared at his own feet. "I still have friends in the bureau. Their superiors, and their superiors' superiors have their arms tied. Some have tried to leak this information to the media, but threats have been made against their families. If the FBI won't do their job, and the media can't, then it's up to people like me. It all comes back to his money, Daniel. He uses it like a loaded gun against the heads of thousands of innocent people. I have to take that gun out of his hands. Without money, he's powerless."

Water hovered in Daniel's eyes. "So, you're essentially going to turn that loaded gun on yourself?"

Rhodes shrugged. "This is how it has to be. This is the higher purpose, Daniel. I've spent my life stopping the bad guys, and I won't stop now."

Daniel shook his head. "Dammit, Dylan…"

"Best case scenario: I spend the rest of my life in prison. I won't have the Horsemen in there with me." Dylan stood and held his hand out for Daniel to shake. "So, let's say goodbye, Danny. Let's say goodbye—and mean it."

Atlas shook his head. "Screw this 'only I can save America' martyr bullshit!" he hissed. "You act like you're here to save the world, like the world needs you—did it ever occur to you that WE NEED YOU? That I—" A single hot tear landed on Daniel's cheek. He wiped it away with his sleeve and sniffed. "We have the same higher purpose, Dylan. Why do you get to fulfill yours but I don't get to fulfill mine?"

Dylan slowly lowered his hand back down. "If you don't want him to be President, then go protest in the streets and bitch on Twitter like everybody else," he said. "Leave this to me. Daniel…Please, just walk away."

"We're not walking away from this," Daniel declared, jutting his chin out. Footsteps approached. Neither of them had to turn to know that Merritt and Jack were watching from the door. "Did you really think I was gonna walk away from YOU?" Daniel whispered, echoing Dylan's same words from months before.

 **To Be Continued**


	2. Inauguration Day

**Summary:** It's Inauguration Day 2017 in Washington D.C., and the Horsemen put on a show that America will never forget. Drama, Humor, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Whump. Features Dylan, Daniel, Jack, and Merritt.

 **Empty Fist  
** PenPatronus  
Chapter 2 of 3  
 **Inauguration Day**

 _Inauguration Day  
_ _January 20, 2017  
_ _Washington, D.C._

The mile-long grounds of the National Mall were covered in two feet of snow—and it was still falling. Elms and cherry trees drooped under the weight. Snowplows paved the way for buses overflowing with men, women, and children coming to see the oaths. To stay warm while they waited for the parade to reach the Capitol Building, the crowd busied themselves with drinking hot chocolate, building snowmen and igloos, and getting into snowball fights. Workers erected enormous billboard-sized video screens that showed a live stream of the president-elect's approach in a brigade of black limousines. Dignitaries and musicians stood chatting on the west lawn of the Capitol, and a thousand American flags whipped in the chilly air.

FBI Agent Natalie Austin scowled at the voice shouting from her smartphone. "Listen to me!" she bellowed loud enough for everyone in the black van to hear. "My only concern today is for the safety of our elected officials! I don't give a damn that Thaddeus Bradley is levitating the Jefferson Memorial! I'm not sparing a single beat cop for a MAGICIAN!"

"Director?" a meek voice called from behind her. Natalie turned to see a short, pale technician raising his hand. "Ma'am, did I hear you say 'magician'? We just got word that there's something going on at the Potomac, right by the Pentagon. Some redheaded chick is drawing a crowd—says she's going to jump into the river chained up and almost…naked."

Agent Austin lowered her phone. "Henley Reeves," she whispered.

"Activity back at the White House!" another tech reported. "A woman's setting up some sort of guillotine trick on Pennsylvania Avenue. And there's a hypnotist doing an act at Union Station!"

"Lula and Merritt." Austin ended her phone call and punched in the speed dial. "Is the parade route still secure?" she demanded when her agent answered. In the background, she heard shouts and clapping, and a single trumpet playing the National Anthem. "Have them all stay in the limos just to be safe," she ordered. "No, no, there's no threat. Just some…distractions. Carry on as planned."

Austin's phone rang barely half a second after she hung up. Dread in her stomach, she hesitated before answering it. "Say again?" she requested after her agent gave a report. "What do you mean someone's climbing the Washington Monument? It's closed today!" Austin slowly slid into a seat and stared, dumbfounded, at the wall. "What the hell do you mean someone's climbing up the OUTSIDE?"

* * *

Jack's fingernails were already bleeding through his gloves, and he was only halfway up the five hundred foot tall obelisk. "Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can," he sang as he climbed. Ropes and grapples kept him secure to the smooth monument as he went, inch by inch, fully aware that the spotlight was activated and trained on him. He heard the startled shouts echoing from below as more and more bystanders noticed him. A walkie Velcro-ed to Jack's arm crackled at him for half a minute before Daniel's voice came through.

"The parade just sped up," Atlas reported. "They're on to us…All of the major news networks are picking up the story…Even Fox just turned their cameras away from the motorcade to…Well, Jack's ass." Jack wiggled his butt, and was rewarded with a rare Atlas laugh. "Well, we took the spotlight off the president-elect. Can't we just call that a win and call this a day, boss?"

Jack raised his face towards the snow and squinted through his goggles. The tip of the monument winked at him in the sun. He was going to make it. He had to before the parade reached the Capitol Building.

Dylan's voice strengthened him. "Today we're preventing an apocalypse, Horsemen," the leader reminded them over the coms. "Stay on target. And, Jack, stop shaking your ass."

"Sorry, Dylan, it has a mind of its own," Jack joked through chattering teeth. "How much time do we have?"

"They'll be here in three minutes…Henley will jump into the water in two," Daniel reported. "Radio silence in one, team. Here we go."

"Guys…"

Jack stopped climbing again. There was a timbre to Dylan's voice that he'd never heard before.

"Whether this works or not, I just want to say thank you. I can't imagine a better team than—JACK, LOOK OUT!"

The sniper's silent bullet probably would've hit Jack right in the back of the head if the wind hadn't picked up right then. He jerked away from the new dimple in the monument, and the sudden movement dislodged the walkie and sent it tumbling to the ground. Cursing, he climbed faster, opting for speed over safety. If he didn't reach the top, the whole plan was doomed…

* * *

Dylan lowered his binoculars, blinked twice, and then looked again through the small window in the blue porta-potty. An FBI agent stood on top of a black van aiming a rifle at the Washington Monument. Dylan was helpless—too far away from Jack to do anything but watch, terrified, as the youngest Horseman dodged another bullet. Jack stopped climbing vertically, let out some line, and went horizontal around the monument until he was out of the agent's sight. Dylan breathed a sigh of relief. "He's ok," he said to the walkie. "For now, at least."

A hundred yards away, hiding inside a fake snowman, using its button eyes as his real ones, Daniel informed in a hollow voice, "The motorcade's here. I've got eyes on the Obama's and…There he is. They're all filing in. Dylan, you ready?"

Dylan dropped the binoculars into the hole of the seat he was standing on. He zipped his black winter jacket up to his chin, adjusted his black gloves, and poised a finger against the microphone on his cheek. "Ready."

Daniel waited until the band stopped playing and everyone that had a seat was in it. And then, with a kid's pleasure, he kicked his way out of the snowman. "GO!"

* * *

In the weeks and months following Inauguration Day, Natalie Austin found herself using phrases she never thought she'd utilize in an official report. Statements like "they appeared out of thin air" that were embarrassing but, also, accurate.

It all started with "technical difficulties." One of the mics stopped working. A second followed it. In ninety seconds, every microphone for the ceremony had died. A moment later, the billboard video screens went dark, and then promptly rebooted. An American flag appeared on the video screen and, as the audience watched, intrigued, the horizontal white lines disconnected from the red ones and rearranged themselves into a new shape. Three rectangles bisected by a line—"SHIT," Austin gasped.

Music exploded. "Ladies and gentlemen," a familiar female voice rang out over the sound speakers, "today is the start of a new era in American history! It's a birthday of sorts—and what birthday party isn't complete without a little MAGIC?"

The civilian crowd, thinking that this was all part of the planned show, erupted into applause when the snow coming down on them suddenly stopped, hovered for a second, and then exploded into red, white, and blue fireworks. A different section of Washington D.C. appeared on each video screen. Austin watched, slack jawed like everyone else, the livestream of Thaddeus standing underneath the Jefferson Memorial he appeared to be levitating. Henley was on the second screen, emerging not only safe but also completely dry from the freezing Potomac River. The third showed Pennsylvania Avenue. A guillotine's blade dropped and sent a brunette head rolling across the pavement. It came to a stop under a woman's boot. The camera widened to show Lula laughing down at her own head. Another angle zoomed in on Union Station where Merritt McKinley appeared to be hypnotizing an entire crowd to flick off the camera. Finally, the last screen featured the Washington Monument. On it, a grinning Jack Wilder waved, and then snapped his fingers. The screens went blank.

As one, everyone within eyesight of the Washington Monument looked towards it. And, also as one, they all gasped.

The Monument was gone—completely disappeared.

People were on their feet and clapping. Kids screamed—mostly from amusement, but a couple from fear. Cameras flashed. Fingers pointed. Secret Servicemen, guns unsheathed, lined the stage but had nothing to point their weapons at. Austin's gun was still holstered…Until she heard a familiar voice.

Dylan Rhodes' voice echoed between the Capitol Building and the absent monument. It seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere. "Ladies and gentlemen, the greatest magician in the world is right here! And I'm not talking about Thaddeus Bradley—but let's all give him a hand!" Thaddeus appeared back on the screen, waving as he lowered the Memorial back to the ground. "And, no, I don't mean Henley Reeves! Show her some love, too!" Back up on her screen, Henley took a bow.

Austin heard another familiar voice. This one came from the same nowhere and everywhere that Dylan's did. "There's a master magician here," Daniel Atlas announced, "but we're not talking about the incredible Lula Mae, Merritt McKinley, or Jack Wilder!"

The crowd cheered for each performer one by one and, one by one, they bowed, left their respective stages, and their screens went blank. Wilder seemed to be parachuting past the Pentagon. Austin's attention returned to the crowd. She started scanning it for Atlas and Rhodes. She saw Dylan first, wearing a dark winter coat and a satisfied smirk, and sent two of her agents sprinting through a row of chairs. They both dove to tackle him.

Another round of delighted applause erupted when the two agents passed through Dylan's body like he was made of nothing but light. "Over there!" Austin cried, spotting Atlas leaning against a trashcan. Daniel beckoned for a pair of Secret Service agents to come get him. Both passed through his mass-less image and—to the audience's ultimate delight—fell head-over-boots into the trash. Hologram-Dylan and Hologram-Daniel flickered out of existence, and then re-appeared fifty yards closer to the stage.

"The greatest magician here isn't Daniel Atlas," Hologram-Dylan said, pointing at his colleague.

"And it isn't Dylan Shrike," said Hologram-Daniel.

Police started to surround the perimeter. Technicians struggled to take back the hijacked audio and video systems. Agents looked at Austin for orders, but she had none to give. She thought she was seeing double—and still saw double no matter how much she blinked. There were two Dylan Shrike's now. Atlas had also been cloned. That number doubled again, and so many more times that Austin completely lost count. Every previously square foot of empty space in sight was replaced with an identical Dylan or Daniel.

Together, at some unspoken cue, every hologram pointed at the stage, directly at the president-elect, and said, "The greatest magician here is YOU!"

Three things happened at once: strobe lights flickered, the video screens began to grow in both width and height, and every cell phone in the entire United States lit up and pinged with a new text message. Simultaneously, every phone began to automatically download a file. Austin swore at herself when she, on instinct just like everyone else, instantly looked at her phone. She tried to look away—she knew it was a misdirection—but her eyes were drawn by familiar names and dates. Declassified files. Emails. Audio bits…By the time Austin looked up, the screens had somehow grown a half mile in every direction—whether they were holograms, or more screens popped up out of the snow, or if she was just imagining it…she wasn't sure. But clearly the Horsemen were onto the next phase of their performance because all of those blank screens suddenly showed blood-red bricks.

They were surrounded by a wall.

The president-elect stood, adjusted his tie, and—against the Secret Service's warnings—approached the edge of the balcony. Below, the holograms were moving towards him in a slow but steady stampede.

"The greatest magicians," said Dylan, "know how to play the long game. They can plant seeds for 30 years and wait, patiently, for them to sprout."

"The greatest magicians," said Daniel, "know how to use misdirection. Even when every eye is examining his mistakes, he manages to turn those eyes towards someone else."

"We're here today to congratulate you on your skills, and to expose you for who you really are. The type of man who should never be President of a free nation." The Dylan-Hologram stood with his hands on his hips and his chin up.

Daniel spoke. "Every American who owns a cell phone—including you—just received every data byte of evidence the FBI has on you, your family, and your businesses. Your tax records, your bribes, your threats, your prostitutes."

"And your entire fortune has just been divvied up and redistributed back to everyone and anyone you ever harmed," said Dylan. "There's enough evidence here to put you behind bars for the rest of your life. Or, if you agree to one thing in the next 90 seconds, we'll stop the download, and there will only be enough evidence to send you to prison for 20 years. You might get a breath or two of fresh air before you go to Hell."

Sweat dripped from the president-elect's nose. He didn't need a microphone for everyone to hear him ask, "What the hell do you want?"

Each pair of holograms shared a knowing look. "Concede the presidency!" Dylan said. "Don't take the oath of office today. Let the Supreme Court dismantle the Electoral College and let the American people vote again. Either go to jail now, or be impeached tomorrow and end up there anyway!" He held up his phone and showed a timer. "You have 60 seconds."

The president-elect fumbled with his phone. "W-Why should I believe s-some silly magician's threats?"

Daniel held up one hand and snapped his fingers. Instantly, the brick walls disappeared. The video screens deflated back to their original sizes. And there, standing proudly in the sunlight, was the Washington Monument.

"We're the Horsemen." One corner of Daniel's lips turned into a sly smile. "We bring down men who build walls."

The timer appeared on everyone's cellphones. A few people started to count down. More voices joined in—dozens, hundreds, thousands. "30, 29, 28, 27, 26…" they yelled. "25, 24, 23…"

"I—I—" the president-elect stammered. "I won't be bullied, I won't be threatened—this is ridiculous—"

The Dylan holograms stepped forward. "You're going down either way," he reminded him. "Go to prison for 20 years, or forever. It's your choice."

"15, 14, 13…"

Natalie Austin saw it, then. She saw it.

It was the tiniest glitch. So tiny that it had to be a miracle that she spotted it at all.

On Daniel Atlas' chest, directly over his heart, a few dozen pixels that made up the hologram were fluctuating. They blinked ever so slightly between white and the evergreen color of his coat. Slowly, Austin raised her weapon and started scanning the crowd again. She saw the same flickering pixels on 6 other holograms. Numbers 7, 8, and 9 were also identical. If she could find the Daniel Atlas without those blinking lights, it would be the human one—the real one. She could stop it all right now…

"8, 7, 6…"

The president-elect's face turned beet-red and squished up like a toddler on the brink of a temper tantrum. "I refuse!" he bellowed. "I'll NEVER! It's mine! All of it—all of you—MINE!"

"4, 3, 2…"

Austin found him. Atlas stood beside Rhodes in the southeast corner, beside a row of food trucks.

She squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out. A thousand people screamed.

The world blurred. People sprinted in every direction but she passed through them like a salmon going upstream. Austin saw red and fixed her gaze on it.

Blood stained the snow. She followed a brief trail—a hunting dog pursuing wounded prey. It led to one of the igloos the children had constructed. Austin kicked the igloo aside.

Steam bellowed out of the ground like a geyser. It wasn't hot enough to burn, but plenty uncomfortable enough to send Austin reeling backwards. By the time the white smoke dissipated, the snow all around her had melted, revealing the Horsemen's symbol painted across the grass. There was no hole, no tunnel, no manhole cover that led to the sewers…

Daniel and Dylan were gone.

 **To Be Continued**


	3. Oaths

**Summary:** It's Inauguration Day 2017 in Washington D.C., and the Horsemen put on a show that America will never forget. Drama, Humor, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Whump. Features Dylan, Daniel, Jack, and Merritt.

 **Empty Fist  
** PenPatronus  
Chapter 3 of 3  
 **Oaths**

 _Inauguration Day  
_ _January 20, 2017  
_ _Washington, D.C._

Food trucks, cabs, vans, cars, and black limousines all tried to leave the area around the Capitol Building at once without running into scattering pedestrians scrambling in every direction. Behind a snowplow that had been abandoned by its truck and wedged between a couple trees, Daniel Atlas was hiding and shouting into his walkie, "Plan L1, team! Repeat—L1!" Atlas winced as five voices shouted questions back at him all at once. While they spoke, he switched his gloves and his boots—different styles and colors. Then, Daniel silenced them with a few choice swearwords and reported, "Dylan's alive. Li, hurry!"

Daniel stuffed both his walkie and his outer coat into a trashcan and sprinted through traffic to a stalled-out food truck on the other side of the road. Dylan Rhodes leaned against the truck's silver exterior with one arm still stuck in his coat. He swayed on his feet, and Daniel reached his side just in time to keep him from faceplanting in the snow. "I got it," Daniel said, his voice softer and even more clipped than usual. Gently, he tugged Dylan's coat off and tossed it aside. The hoodie underneath was already stained with blood blooming from the gunshot wound just below Dylan's bellybutton. Daniel cursed at the sight, then took off his own remaining coat and wrapped the leader up in it. "Li's on his way," he said, eyes looking everywhere but Dylan's face. "Just…Just hang on."

Dylan's blinks were sluggish. The look he gave Daniel was apologetic. "Danny, I can't—I can't stand up much longer…" Dylan swayed again, and only remained on his feet because Daniel braced him with a bear hug.

"Another minute or two," Daniel promised. "You know that traffic, pedestrians, even cops submit at the sight of a limo." Atlas pulled Dylan's left arm across his shoulders, and then gripped him around the waist to keep him on his feet. "Li will get here quick."

Dylan's quick, desperate breaths fogged the air in front of him. "Should just leave me," he murmured. "Meant it when I said I didn't expect to…to survive this."

Daniel snorted. "And I meant the words I said." Atlas looked up at the cloudy D.C. sky and swallowed three times before he spoke again. "Who tried to shoot me?"

"My old boss," Dylan said matter-of-factly. "Not sure how she figured out who the real you was…Probably a glitch in the holograms…" Dylan sagged another inch. He shut his eyes and left them closed. "Never wanted to put you in danger, Daniel."

Atlas rolled his eyes. "You leapt in front of me, took a bullet for me…Why does it sound like you're the one thanking me?"

"Owed you," Dylan whispered. "You saved me from dying like my father. Couldn't… Couldn't stand by and watch you die like yours."

Daniel finally looked Dylan in the face. "You really do know everything about us, don't you?"

Dylan smiled briefly before dropping another inch. He opened his mouth to speak, but both blood loss and gravity caught up to him, and he collapsed to his knees. Atlas fell with him, giving up on keeping him upright and just concentrating on making sure he didn't injure himself further. "Do you think it worked?"

Daniel patted Dylan on the shoulder. "If it didn't…Nothing will."

A plain black limousine rolled up. A man wearing sunglasses and a black hat and tuxedo jumped out of the backseat and rushed over to them. "Oh, god," Jack Wilder gasped. "Dylan, oh man, that's a lot of blood!"

"Help me with him," Daniel begged. Together, the two Horsemen pulled Dylan to his feet and carried him into the car.

Li rolled down the window separating the driver from the passengers. "Bu Bu is setting up. As long as that bullet didn't hit any vital organs, she'll be able to take care of it without taking him to a hospital."

"Personally, I consider every inch of me vital," Dylan quipped as the boys lowered him onto his back across the longest seat.

Atlas ripped towels off from around the champagne bottles and pressed them against Dylan's wound. "Let's go!" Jack shut the door, and Li hit the gas.

The next hour was a blur. They circled the city picking up the other magicians one by one. Thaddeus took one look at Dylan and opted to sit up front in the passenger seat. Lula did what she did best in stressful situations—she talked the whole time. She talked about the rookie FBI agent who fainted when she decapitated her own head. She talked about the look on the president-elect's face when he read the file on his cellphone. And she talked about how they should all take a well-deserved vacation to a private island somewhere near the equator. Undoubtedly a few grateful Americans would contribute to their holiday fund on Kickstarter…

Henley's nose and cheeks were red with tears when they found her. She curled up on the bench seat with Dylan's head cushioned in her lap. "Thank you," she whispered to him. "That bullet was headed for Danny's heart and…" She fiddled with her long red hair to occupy herself as she tried not to cry. Dylan reached for her wrist, and replied by pressing the back of her hand against his cold lips.

When Merritt got on board, he did his best to hypnotize Dylan into believing that he felt no pain. Dylan gave him a grateful smile, and thanked him for trying. Even at his most vulnerable, Dylan Rhodes was too clever to be mesmerized.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief once they escaped downtown D.C. They settled into a comfortable silence broken only by an occasional groan from Dylan when they hit a pothole. Henley graced her manicured nails through Dylan's hair. Daniel kept pressure on the wound and had Jack hand him fresh bandages made out of whatever clean fabrics they could find.

Another hour passed. The Horsemen in the back seat didn't even realize that Li and Thaddeus were listening to the radio until they suddenly turned the volume up high. "…interview with David Blaine about how Jack Wilder made the Washington Monument disappear, but first, there's officially another warrant out for the infamous Horsemen," the newscaster was saying, "for robbing 3 billion dollars from the president-elect during today's Inauguration ceremony."

"4 billion," Dylan whispered without opening his eyes.

A "Breaking News" alarm shrilled over the airwaves. The newscaster hesitated for a minute, and then started reporting. "The question on everyone's mind this afternoon is whether or not we'll have a new President of the United States today. An official statement just released by the White House announced that the Inauguration will be postponed until further notice pending a probing investigation into the intel leaked by the Horsemen."

Jack, Daniel, Merritt, Lula, and Henley all shouted and clapped at the same time. Thaddeus turned in his seat and flashed them all his brightest smile. "That's the best we could've hoped for today, Dylan! You did it!"

Daniel released Henley from a hug and leaned over their leader. "Dylan, did you hear that?" he asked. "Dylan?" Dylan's skin had taken on a corpse-tinge. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, he didn't react when Danny shook his shoulder.

Henley squealed and pressed her fingers against his neck while Jack confirmed that he still had a pulse in his wrist. He was alive, but had finally passed out, unconscious. "Li, drive faster!" Daniel shouted. With his hands cupping Rhodes' face, Danny leaned in close and whispered, "Hang on, Dylan."

* * *

 _Inauguration Day  
_ _July 20, 2017  
_ _Somewhere Near the Equator_

On a big flat screen TV, the new President of the United States finished stating her oath of office: "…to the best of my ability preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Gathered together on couches and chairs in an enormous beach house on a private island, enjoying the second of their three months of vacation, sat Thaddeus, Li, Bu Bu, Lula, Henley, Jack, Merritt, and Daniel. They all cheered and clapped and threw confetti. Hugs and kisses were exchanged as the televised band began to play.

The sound of a popped cork echoed from the kitchen. Dylan emerged with a tray filled with glasses and a bottle of champagne. "To us," Dylan toasted once everyone's glass was filled. "And to the rightful President of the United States."

"Cheers!" the group agreed, and clinked their glasses together.

"See, if you get married here," Merritt was saying to Jack and Lula as everyone settled back in to watch TV, "I can hypnotize a dolphin to be your ring bearer!"

"How to you hypnotize a dolphin?" Lula demanded.

Daniel separated himself from the group and followed Dylan out to the beach house's balcony. Dylan's left hand stayed against his bellybutton as he leaned against the railing. Daniel watched his expressionless face for a minute before speaking. "Do me a favor?"

Dylan blinked. "Anything."

Daniel tried to keep eye contact, but ended up staring down at his own feet. "We're family. Don't hide jobs from us again."

"Deal," Dylan agreed, "if you do a favor for me." Daniel cocked a curious eyebrow. "Lead the next mission." When Daniel immediately started to argue, Dylan held his hand up. "Thaddeus was right about people needing to hit rock bottom before they can truly become who they're meant to be. I did, when I was in the safe. You did when I stopped breathing on Bu Bu's operating table."

Danny turned to stare at the ocean. His nostrils flared and his bottom lip trembled twice. Dylan put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're ready, Danny. I'll be by your side the entire time. And, if it helps, I already have an idea…An even bigger job."

Danny grinned at him. "Bigger than challenging the American government?"

Dylan smiled. "Brexit could be the start of the downfall of the European Union. People are scared. Some in the United Kingdom are scared, and scared people put up walls, cancel trade agreements, and close borders. Some people think they're better off separate from the world, instead of working with it. Showing them they're wrong might take some—"

"Magic?" Danny mimed Dylan by putting his hand on the leader's shoulder. "Let's get to work… AFTER our vacation is over."

 **The End**

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